


L'amour

by LaceKyoko1138



Series: Fictober 2020 but make it Sylvianne [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Foreign Exchange Student Sylvain Jose Gautier, Français | French, French Characters, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26779153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceKyoko1138/pseuds/LaceKyoko1138
Summary: Marianne is just a typical high school senior when she meets Sylvain, a student from France. School becomes more interesting with him around.Day 2 of Fictober: Foreign Exchange Student
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Fictober 2020 but make it Sylvianne [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946101
Kudos: 6





	L'amour

**Author's Note:**

> My French is rusty and I suck at calculus. Please forgive me.
> 
> Fun fact: I read online that French speakers use the word "actually" in the way of "something at the present moment" whereas Anglophones use it as a way to correct something. Interesting to say the least.
> 
> I wanted a foreign exchange student that wasn't Petra and Gautier is clearly a French surname so...
> 
> For those that don't know, the French alphabet is wildly different from English. Gautier, when spelled out, would sound something like Zheh Ah Oo Teh Ee Uh Air. My favorites are X and Y, pronounced as Eeks and Eegret.
> 
> Anna is Madame Marchande. Marchande is French for merchant lmao
> 
> I'll have more notes at the bottom for French words and phrases used. Please enjoy!

It was the first day of senior year and Marianne already had anxiety. She was the unfortunate sort (in her mind) that skipped ahead of her age group at her uncle’s insistence. She was ‘smart’ and ‘had potential’ and he wanted her to graduate quickly so she could attend college early. It would only benefit her, so he said. Everyone she knew from middle school was in Geometry but she somehow found herself in Calculus with the juniors and seniors. She was sixteen and already so much was expected of her.

It was also her first class of the day and she already wanted to go back to bed. Complicated math before even eight o’clock was suicide. She wished now to have had her schedule changed but she hated confrontation and asking for things, wanting to make herself as unnoticeable as possible, and here she was, stuck with possibly the worst class to take first thing.

Well, PE was probably worse…

The bell rang and the teacher was ready to call roll. But then the school counselor showed up with a tall, lanky, red headed boy who seemed a bit too sure of himself. He didn’t look very familiar, but then again, he was probably an upperclassman so Marianne wouldn’t have known him anyway.

Her teacher, Mr. Essar, turned his attention to the counselor, Mx. Eisner. “Good morning. Who have we here?”

“A last minute addition. This is Sylvain, a foreign exchange student from France. There were some issues enrolling him, but we managed to finalize his schedule. He should already be in your roster. The program updated quickly.” They handed it off to him. “There is one student whose schedule matches his, so perhaps you’ll want to assign them as a helper until he’s acclimated to our school.”

“Oh, I was in the middle of roll. Sylvain, your last name?”

“Gautier. That is spelled G-A-U-T-I-E-R.” Someone snickered at how he said each letter but he seemed nonplussed by it.

Marianne saw Essar furrow his brow, but he studied the roster until he found Sylvain’s name. “Ah, there you are.” Essar marked him as present. He then looked through the schedule and found the matching student. “You’ll be behind Miss Edmund, that empty seat right there.”

Sylvain shrugged and went to sit, pulling out his textbook and a notebook. He found a pen, something that was surprisingly fancy and wrote his name and the date. Marianne had turned to greet him shyly and saw he wrote in beautiful cursive, something the American students had either never learned or simply forgotten. She was a bit speechless and lost her nerve, but Sylvain smiled at her all the same, saying a simple _bonjour_. Marianne was one of a few that wrote in cursive, if only because she liked how it was illegible. Marianne didn’t want to be known or perceived in any capacity; the idea of being noticed was horrifying to her, even if it was normal to exist. She hated attention. Of course, her use of cursive usually received praise from her older teachers and she wished that perhaps she could just not write altogether, drop out, and run away to live in a cottage in the woods where her only friends were animals. It was much better than the suburbs at least.

The student next to him called Sylvain a fruit for writing in ‘girly handwriting’ and he merely looked confused.

“How does this make me a fruit? I do not understand,” he said, concerned and quite confused. Mostly everyone else laughed and someone called out “It means you’re gay!” which only made everyone laugh more.

Ah, high school, where ignorance was abundant.

Sylvain scoffed. “Women love me and I love them. I have heard worse.”

Essar groaned but Marianne noticed a small smile on Eisner’s lips. They nodded to Essar, wishing him a successful first day, and left.

Essar sighed at how his class was already this rambunctious. “Everyone, please settle down. It is far too early to act this way.” He looked through the roll and then analyzed where each student was placed. Essar had put everyone’s last name on their individual desks, going by the alphabetical method. A lot of students hated this, wanting to sit with their friends of distant last names, but Essar enjoyed keeping things orderly. This helped him memorize everyone’s names anyway.

He continued calling the roll and when he marked everything properly, he began class. The first few minutes consisted of explaining the syllabus. Essar was fairly strict, accepting only a few absences unless there was proof of extenuating circumstances, he only allowed one make-up test each as well as an essay on what that particular student learned from their previous mistakes, and he was adamant about participation points. Some groaned at that. Disciplinary action would be had should anyone act out of line severely, starting with a warning and then a write-up, unless the behavior was completely unacceptable. He did allow notecards to write down formulas for exams at least, understanding that some of them were a bit complicated and he wanted his students to pass. But formulas only, no cheating, and if they were caught, it was immediate grounds for ISS. Few students wanted that because it meant lunch with other delinquent students and some were bad enough to end up in the ‘bad’ school, which was a campus away and enforced a uniform rule. Most students thought the uniforms looked like prison clothes and no one wanted that.

With that being said, Essar then instructed them all to turn to the first chapter of their textbook and began his lecture. Most of it was a review of previous math classes, but it also introduced the complication of calculus. Essar then had them attempt the practice problems and would call for answers from random students to ensure they were taking in the information.

His first student was Sylvain, and Marianne wondered if this was a way of testing the foreign student’s European education.

“Mr. Gautier, what would be the answer to a problem such as (x2\- 1) / x – 1?”

Sylvain looked at him, as if processing what Essar said. “Ex…? Oh! _Eeks_! _Desolé_ , ah, that is the answer of _deux_. Err, two, I mean.”

Essar nodded. “Wonderful! A basic problem, but one students sometimes struggle with. Can you explain how you came up with that answer?”

Sylvain made a face as if he would rather do anything but that. Marianne could only surmise it was because his English wasn’t perfect and he was already made fun of in this class.

“Mmmm, in the case of this, one is unable to divide _zéro_. That is a… _indéterminé nombre_. There are many ways to solve this, but I am most familiar with _L’Hôpital’s Rule._ You do the factoring and solve. _C’est facile._ ”

Most of the students looked at him like he was crazy, even the ones that took Pre-Cal the year prior. None had heard of the method he used.

Essar looked pleased. “I’ve never taught that method before, but I am familiar with it. Once factored, it truly is easy to solve.” Essar proceeded to explain the method. All of the students agreed though: it was too early for this shit.

Marianne only felt panicked. Yes, she was advanced in some ways, but math of this magnitude seemed impossible. And limits were _basic_. She could only imagine how hard the rest of the year would be.

Thankfully the bell rang right as Essar assigned homework. Twenty problems to solve? Disgusting.

Marianne sighed, gathering her things. She felt a presence linger. Of course it was her ward of sorts, Sylvain, but she was still startled regardless. He stood fairly closely to her and it was unnerving.

“Um, could you...not stand so close?” she asked quietly.

Sylvain looked a bit hurt, but took a step back. “ _Desolé._ I often forget Americans are not fond of closeness.”

Marianne never really thought of it that way. She just didn’t like it in general. Perhaps that was deeper in the culture than she thought.

“Um, that’s okay.” She put on her backpack. Sylvain was ready with his satchel on his right shoulder. “Follow me. We have...” she pulled her schedule out of the pocket of her skirt. “...yoga?”

All students were required to have at least two PE credits. Regular PE was mandatory, but they had a choice of what they wanted their other credit to be. Marianne had done PE last year as a fifteen year old junior just to get it over with, and she had hated every minute of it. Running the mile on the track every Tuesday and Thursday was utter hell, and playing games like dodgeball was torture. In fact, any sort of team based activity was miserable. She mostly liked the warmups since they didn’t rely on camaraderie. Otherwise, any sort of physical class was awful, but yoga couldn’t be so bad. It was quiet and mindful and she hoped it could ease her anxiety. She knew as much.

“Yes! I have never practiced it before and besides, I am sure there will be _beaucoup de belles filles.”_ He looked at her as if she understood.

Marianne knew very basic French. In middle school she had taken it as an elective, but it was mostly just learning the alphabet and common phrases. Being that she was in the accelerated program, her uncle had put her in a local French class so she could test out of the basic levels and immediately be put in the most advanced the school offered. At the end of the year, many of her classes, which were all AP, had the exams that could determine if she would receive college credits. Her uncle wanted her to surpass the basics so she could focus on her degree. He wanted her to attend law school, as he was a lawyer and needed an apprentice to eventually take over his firm, but Marianne felt like she’d make a better veterinarian. Animals were so much easier to deal with.

But back to French, Marianne knew enough of it to infer that Sylvain was only taking the class to hit on girls and that alone made her nervous.

“Um, it is quite popular with girls. You might be the only boy in our class.”

“Even better,” he cheered, smirking at her. “And it seems you are the first girl I have made eyes on.”

She assumed he meant ‘laid eyes on’ but didn’t correct him. She gulped and walked away, wishing he wouldn’t follow.

Why on earth did the goddess curse her with a boy she was assigned to guide? How cruel. How unfair. Marianne hated talking to boys.

Sylvain followed anyway. The warning bell rang and Marianne quickened her pace, not wanting to be late. Sylvain walked fast as well, but it was easier with his long legs.

He was so tall and it made Marianne feel incredibly small.

They managed to make it to the classroom right as the bell rang. The class wasn’t as big as she thought it would be, but every single student was female, or at least female-presenting. The yoga instructor looked annoyed (?) at her last two students, particularly at Sylvain’s arrival. She indicated for them to sit and since they were the last, that meant they had to sit next to each other.

There were obviously no desks, so sitting on the floor it was, and it was awkward for Marianne considering she wore a skirt. Perhaps that wasn’t the best idea.

The teacher strolled around each student, handing them a syllabus. As she did so, she introduced herself.

“I am Coach Nevrand. I’m mainly the volleyball coach at this school, but this year I’ve been assigned to teach yoga as well.” She spoke very plainly, almost as if she didn’t want to be there. “I know just as much about yoga as you all, so we’ll be learning together.” She handed off the last of the syllabuses to Marianne and Sylvain and walked back to her desk. She pulled up textbooks.

“This is your textbook. They’re numbered and you’ll each be assigned one. Should you lose it, you will pay a fee, so I suggest being mindful. I have my own copy, and I’ve read ahead so I can actually teach this class. Despite my disinterest, I don’t want any of you to fail.”

She called up each student to hand out a textbook, noting which number they had. This was also an opportunity to take roll, so she called everyone in order.

Once the textbooks were assigned, Nevrand turned to the syllabus.

“It’s pretty basic. Don’t cause disruptions and actually try the poses. If they’re too difficult for you, just go into child’s pose. It’s easy and it counts, but I do want to see some attempts. You can’t just cop out with the easiest pose.”

Coach Nevrand seemed very strict and Marianne’s anxiety only spiked. Yoga was supposed to be an easy class but Nevrand made it nerve-wracking.

“I’m also told to assign each of you a uniform. Basic athletic pants and shirts with the school emblem. Last year when the program started, we had students bring their own yoga clothes but they proved to be distracting.” Nevrand rolled her eyes. “I personally don’t care what you wear, but I have orders to follow. I have the uniforms in drawers in the back. Form a line, and I’ll ask for your size.” Her gaze turned to Sylvain. “Fortunately they’re all unisex, seeing as we have our first male to ever be in the program. Astounding.” She didn’t sound very astounded. “Rule still stands: no disruptions.”

If she meant that Sylvain couldn’t harass the girls that Marianne suspected he would, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Everyone just nodded, but Sylvain had a look on his face as if that was a challenge.

“Alright, line up.” She found her way to the back where the drawers were. Each one was labeled with a size and whether it contained shirts or pants.

Marianne finally walked up and Nevrand merely stared at her, waiting for her to state her size. Marianne found she was a bit tongue-tied, when it wasn’t even a complicated thing.

“Your size?” Nevrand asked, sounding annoyed.

Marianne spluttered out “Small!” and Nevrand handed off her clothes. Sylvain was next and Nevrand sneered at his overconfidence.

“Please don’t say XL. I know your type.” Perhaps that was an inappropriate statement to a student, but Sylvain took it in stride.

Sylvain ignored the XL part because he wasn’t sure what that meant, but he could infer it meant bigger than _grande_. “ _Pas de problème. Chemise grande et pantalon moyen._ ”

Nevrand gave a blank stare as if he was kidding her.

“Are you actually French or are you just faking it?”

Sylvain laughed dramatically but nodded.

“I am French all the time. I am from Nice.”

Nevrand studied him a bit longer. She finally said, “Grand I know is large. That your shirt size?”

“ _Oui!”_

She handed him a large shirt and looked at him expectantly. “What size pants? I don’t know what _moyen_ means.”

He paused, trying to find the right word. “It is not large,” his accent made it sound like anything but the actual word, “but it is also not _petit._ I think the English word is...muh-dee-oom?”

It was intelligible enough to understand, but it certainly didn’t sound like the right word.

“Medium. Got it.” She handed him the pants as well.

With clothes handed out, Nevrand indicated the locker room in the back.

“You’ll be changing in there and I will also assign lockers. Don’t forget your combinations and don’t leave your things when class is over.” She looked at Sylvain again. “The rooms themselves are small, but they are divided by gender, so don’t worry about being accidentally spied on.”

Sylvain shrugged. “I am a gentleman.”

“Sure.” Nevrand shooed the students away. She followed the female students to start assigning them their lockers. When finished, she knocked on the boys’ locker room door to ascertain if Sylvain was dressed. He let her in and she assigned his locker.

When everyone was finished, Nevrand took to the front of the classroom.

“Let’s begin with a basic routine.” She put on some gentle music and began.

Basic she said, but some of the positions were uncomfortable. Marianne found it difficult to find her balance for the Warrior poses and Tree pose as well, but surprisingly Sylvain was doing just fine. If he was showing off, no one knew, but he flowed with the movements.

Nevrand stopped the class five minutes before the bell and told everyone to change. Most of them were grateful. Marianne just wanted to move on.

The bell rang and Sylvain was waiting for Marianne by the door. He smiled at her and they walked to their next class.

“AP Biology is next.” They ascended the stairs that led to the science department and found their classroom. “I really like biology honestly.”

“Me as well. It’s very interesting, no?”

“It is.” It seemed this was a class that was a free for all with seating so Sylvain and Marianne found a secluded corner in the back.

Ms. Seiros then entered the room. She was the head of the science department and taught Biology I and AP Biology. Marianne had her last year and found her a bit intimidating, but she was very thorough.

Their class was small, but that didn’t stop Seiros from smiling. “Welcome everyone. I am so pleased to see you’ve chosen my class for your final year.”

The boys nodded fervently. Sylvain just stared, his jaw dropped.

It was obvious why: Ms. Seiros had the fattest ass of all the teachers.

She ignored the very blatant stares and began passing out syllabuses. “I’m sure you’ll come to discover that many of your syllabuses for today are the same. Same rules apply: no disruptions, participate, and don’t skip. I want you all to flourish, but I know senioritis very well. Don’t let your guard down. It’s your final year and you need to excel if you want to go to good colleges.”

She wasn’t wrong, but it was intimidating all the same. Marianne just stared at her syllabus, not wanting to make eye contact.

The lecture began, mostly going over what was taught in Bio I, a refresher really. Seiros explained much of these processes and terms would be explored in further detail and there would be more experiments and lab work. She really loved this subject; it was obvious in her teaching.

But the class finally ended and fourth period was next.

AP Government. Marianne could tell she would already hate this course but Sylvain seemed very interested.

“I am curious about American government. I have only heard terrible things.”

Marianne grimaced. “You wouldn’t be wrong...”

Their teacher was Mr. Cichol, who also taught AP English. He was very well known for his strictness and only taught AP courses. He was very knowledgeable in his fields, but he was also probably the most frightening teacher the school had. But he was not unkind; just a stickler for the rules.

Syllabuses. Again. Textbooks as well. Marianne so far had one for each class and she knew her backpack would be so heavy. There was little time to go to her locker and even if she did, where was Sylvain’s? She was under the impression he had to follow her everywhere until he could manage on his own. So using her locker was only an inconvenience.

Cichol, much like Essar, went directly into his lesson, and it was as difficult as expected. Marianne understood it, but there was still a lot to cover. Sylvain could not contain his enthusiasm: he asked many questions and it was to the point that their classmates would groan any time he raised his hand. Cichol didn’t mind answering them; in fact, he was pleased that Sylvain was so invested. It was practically a two-way conversation rather than an actual class.

Class ended and it was off to fifth period. This was AP French IV and Sylvain scoffed.

“An easy pass. How can I fail?” He had a valid point.

Marianne said nothing as they sat together. This was the smallest class yet so it was easy to find seats. Fortunately, Madame Marchande told them textbooks were to stay in the classroom. There would be workbook pages assigned, and they were expected to take extensive notes. There would be speaking practice and listening comprehension practice, and even essays that had to be entirely in French. Presentations too, and Marianne felt herself go into a cold sweat. She hated presentations.

Sylvain seemed to notice this. “Do not worry, Marianne. We can do the presentations together and I can do most of the talking.”

Marianne just nodded, knowing that was probably for the best. But not every project could be a group project and she’d have to go solo eventually. It was not wanted.

Fifth period was interesting because it was also the lunch period. A lunch was during the first half. B lunch was at the middle, and C lunch was the last half. It was the longest period of the day for this reason. Most of the foreign language classes were B lunch and Marianne found herself eagerly awaiting that bell.

Marchande didn’t care for syllabuses so she mostly just listed her rules. She was far more easygoing than the other teachers, but did expect most conversations and questions to be entirely in French. She did not expect perfection, but she wanted her students to strive for fluency. She called roll and enthusiastically called out Sylvain’s name.

“ _Gautier! Êtes vous Français?”_

Sylvain couldn’t help himself but answer in as much French as possible. He was clearly very proud.

“ _Oui, Madame Marchande! Je viens de Nice! C’est ma première fois en Amérique!”_

“ _Ah, magnifique! Bienvenue en Amérique!”_

Everyone understood what was being said, but they also felt it was obnoxious. Of course, anyone in AP French IV obviously had some interest in the language, but Americans were Americans. Having an actual French student in class did not bode well. Marchande obviously expected perfection from him. He was possibly already the favorite. Any sort of desire to stand out would be eclipsed by him. How unfair.

Marchande began the lesson with a welcome song and did a quick review of some past phrases and colloquialism learned previously. Marianne simply nodded along and wrote as much as she could. She may have taken outside lesson during the summer, but that was quite different than the students who had taken this class for four years.

Sylvain participated just as he participated in the AP Government class. The teacher was enamored of his skill and seemed pleased to have a native in her class. But then the bell rang for B lunch and most of the students bolted out of the room. Marchande stopped him for a moment to congratulate him on joining the exchange program, and Sylvain explained that he eventually wanted to move to America to work in public relations and mass communications. She wished him well and he and Marianne exited the class room.

“Ah, thank you for waiting for me, Marianne. You have been a very helpful guide.”

Marianne felt like she did nothing to welcome him, but he seemed content to just follow her. “It’s not a problem…” she replied quietly.

“You are very quiet though. Have I offended you?”

She shook her head a bit too fervently. “Not at all! I’m just not good at talking to people.”

“I see.” He followed Marianne and she sat at the end of a table, pulling out her lunch she had made that morning.

“Ah, you bring your _le déjeuner_? I do as well.” Out of his satchel he took out what looked like a bento box and it was filled to the brim with delicious looking food.

Marianne saw a meticulously made salad of greens, tomatoes, beets, carrots, and he had a side of dressing to go with it. He had a sandwich that looked like a BLT but without the B; it was probably some other meat, like roast beef. There was also a small packet of macarons.

That was...quite a lunch. Marianne had a PB&J, some veggie sticks, and a small juicebox.

“That is all you’re eating?” he asked, suddenly concerned. “I have heard you Americans don’t eat much at your schools, but I would think a home lunch would be...more.”

“I don’t really eat much. Not for any specific reason, but I never have had much of an appetite.”

“That is why you are so petite. Please, a macaron for you.” He pulled one out of the packet and placed it on her lunch box.

Marianne couldn’t help but blush. “You certainly don’t have to...”

“I insist. _Mange, s’il vous plaît._ ” He clapped his hands at her and she immediately began to eat. She wanted to run away because he seemed crazy, but she knew it would be rude. Not that she hadn’t fled from people before…

Some students gave them odd looks, but no one sat by them. It seemed Marianne didn’t share this lunch period with her old middle school friends. Some girls giggled in Sylvain’s direction, and he preened and cooed at them. Marianne was just embarrassed.

And the rest of the day went by mostly peacefully. There was AP English IV which Sylvain did suddenly seem nervous about, but he was nothing if not confident. He was determined to do well surprisingly.

“ _Anglais_ is not my first language, as you see, but I read and write it very well. Speaking is an entirely different beast.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to express yourself in writing, so I understand completely,” Marianne replied.

“Indeed.” The last class of the day was their fine arts credit, which was theatre.

“I did not take you for the acting type,” Sylvain admitted. “You are very quiet.”

“I mostly work the technician side. Costumes, makeup. I know about lighting and sound as well. I’m not an actor at all.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Sylvain beamed. “I quite enjoy acting. _C’est facile._ ”

“For you, I’m sure it is.” They entered the classroom together, and there were no desks. Simply stands one would see at a choir concert. Chairs were placed on top, clearly meant for black box performances.

Mr. Regnald was the teacher for this class and he was known for his easygoing nature. He had a syllabus as well, but it was simple, mostly focusing on what the class was about and what each project would entail. It was required for each student to do at least one monologue and perform in a small group scene. Auditions for plays were recommended, but not enforced. He understood most were only taking this class for the credit.

He had them practice warm-ups and then gave them each a sheet that had a list of various questions. The task was to find students that could answer each one about their background or personality. Some were simple, such as “Find a student who wasn’t born in America” but some were weird like “Find a student who brushes their dog’s teeth.” It was played like bingo but no prizes. The reward was getting to know their fellow classmates.

Finding a student who wasn’t born in America was easy and Marianne wrote Sylvain’s name immediately. As it turned out, Marianne had brushed a dog’s teeth before, but that was back when she had a dog. She had always taken great care of her animals.

When the task was done, the bell rang to indicate class was over. Marianne made a beeline for the door, Sylvain following closely.

“Mariane, _merci_ for guiding me today. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Y-yes,” Marianne stuttered. “How are you getting home?”

“My host family is picking me up. _Et vous?_ ”

“My uncle picks me up too. I’m too anxious to ride the bus.”

“Okay! Well, let’s walk together and wait for our chauffeurs.”

They walked to the front of the school and sat among the pillars, watching the cars that waited for their students, everyone slowly filing out to go home.

Marianne spotted her uncle’s car and made to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sylvain.”

“ _À toute à l’heure!_ ” Sylvain called out, waving goodbye. Marianne found herself smiling. Sylvain was a bit much, but something about him was quite kind.

~*~

Senior year went by, very little drama happening in Marianne’s life. Sylvain, however, seemed to love drama, serial dating and breaking hearts. He never tried anything on Marianne, but any other girl was fair game.

He soon grew a reputation of womanizing and some loved it, willingly going out with him. Some girls who had more self-respect avoided him as if he were an annoying little bug. It did not deter Sylvain though.

It was Valentine’s Day when things turned upside down.

It was a normal day, cold but sunny. Marianne sat in the cafeteria eating the stale donuts and a strawberry milk from the school kitchen, waiting for Sylvain. They met up every day. Sylvain may have become quite acclimated and was able to get around on his own, but he always sat with Marianne in the moment, they did all of their projects together, and they always sat at lunch together. He walked her to the front of the school at the end of the day and it became a routine. It was comforting.

But Valentine’s Day there was a shift in the paradigm.

Sylvain walked in as normal, but he was carrying a bouquet of roses, a small plush horse, and what looked like _very expensive_ chocolates. Marianne looked surprised. Sylvain never mentioned there was a girl in particular he was trying to woo. He wooed everyone it seemed.

Upon seeing Marianne, he smiled graciously. “Good morning, Marianne! It is wonderful to see you.” His English had greatly improved, using less French idioms and phrases, but every now and then one would pop up. He had taught Marianne a lot of them, so she was excelling in their French class. He seemed to take pride in that.

“Oh, good morning! That’s a lot you’re carrying. Who’s the girl?” she asked. Marianne had become less shy, but mostly around Sylvain. There were a few others she was open with, but she was most at ease with Sylvain. He was safe. He cared. Something about that made Marianne very happy and seeing he had something for some other girl disappointed her. They were great friends and she thought maybe he’d have brought her something.

“Why, it is you, Marianne!” he cheered. “I would very much like you to be my valentine!” He kneeled before her and she felt herself erupt into a blush. He produced the flowers to her with a flourish and she had no choice but to take them. She stared at them, sniffing them. They were fragrant, fresh, and her heart swelled with emotion.

“You like horses I know, so I found this.” He handed her the plush and she couldn’t stop the smile forming on her face. “And I did go to various stores to find chocolates, but American chocolates are too sweet. Artificial even. So I went to a proper _choc_ _o_ _latier_ to find the best for you.”

Marianne was shocked. “Sylvain, you didn’t have to go out of your way...”

“I did! It is for you. You deserve the best, _mon cheri._ ”

She hugged the plush close to her chest, looking at the nicely packaged chocolates. They were beautiful, artfully crafted. This was incredibly flattering.

“Why choose me? You seem to like so many girls...”

“Ah, well, women are...fascinating. Beautiful, and they should feel that way. But I have soon learned that they only like me because I’m French. If I were any other _Americain_ , they would not pay me any mind.”

“I’m sure they would. You’re very handsome...” Marianne admitted. “Oh! I’m sorry. That was too forward, wasn’t it?”

Sylvain smiled, looking pleased. “Not at all. I am happy to hear it.”

“But… Why me, then?”

His smile became more gentle, his eyes softening. “Marianne, I like you most of all. You accept me and see me for me. You do not care about where I come from and you have stayed by my side. I can only say _c’est vous que mon cœur a choisi._ ”

French class prepared her for that statement. “My heart chose you, too.”

Sylvain could not have been happier. His face practically glowed with happiness. “Marianne, I cherish you. I am so glad to have met you.”

“I am glad to have met you too.” Putting the gifts aside, Marianne stood, helping him up, and hugged him.

Everything in the world was right. Two hearts beating as one and no amount of distance could tear them apart.

**Author's Note:**

> French words:  
> Bonjour: hello/good morning  
> Desole: sorry  
> Deux: Two  
> Zero: zero  
> Indetermine nombre: indeterminate number  
> C'est facile: it's easy  
> Beaucoup de belles filles: many beautiful girls (S's in French are usually silent at the ends of words)  
> Pas de probleme: not a problem  
> Chemise grande et pantalon moyen: large shirt and medium pants  
> Nice is pronounced like niece  
> Petit: small  
> Etes vous Francais: are you from France  
> Je viens de Nice: I am from Nice  
> C'est ma premiere fois en Amerique: this is my first time in America  
> Bienvenue en Amerique: welcome to America  
> le dejeuner: lunch  
> Mange, s'il vous plait: eat, please  
> Anglais: English  
> Et vous: and you  
> A toute a l'heure: see you later/see you tomorrow  
> Americain: American  
> Chocolatier: a chocolate maker  
> mon cheri: my sweet  
> C'est vous que mon coeur a choisi: my heart chose you
> 
> I'm sure everyone knows oui, merci, and magnifique.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
